


And Catch You If You Should Fall

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11001174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke has what she calls a "minor medical issue" and needs someone to make sure she doesn't die in her sleep. Of course she calls Bellamy. Of course he says he'll do it.





	And Catch You If You Should Fall

**Author's Note:**

> it is not reassuring when your doctor asks you if you have someone who can watch you sleep, just fyi. but since the issue seems to have resolved itself and I'm fine, obviously I went ahead and turned it into a fic.

**Clarke** : hey I'll buy you dinner if you come get me from work and come over to watch me sleep  
wow okay reading that back it looks a lot like a pickup line  
it's not

Bellamy blinks at his phone a few times, clamping down on his disappointment and letting confusion take the front seat. Because, okay, the first text _does_ kind of look like a pickup line, but it's not like it's a _good_ pickup line, so it's not really a surprise that it was just bad phrasing.

But still. He wouldn't mind at all if Clarke was ineptly flirting with him. That seems to be how she'd do it.

**Me** : if it's not an inept pickup line what is it?

**Clarke** : I'm having a probably minor medical issue  
I need a buddy for the night  
I assume you started panicking as soon as you saw medical issue, so you seemed like the best choice

**Me** : "probably minor"???  
what the fuck, Clarke

**Clarke** : yeah that's what I thought  
seriously it's probably fine  
and I will tell you everything over dinner  
which I'll pay for

**Me** : jfc  
am I getting you now?  
I better be getting you now  
or you tell me what's happening via text

**Clarke** : yeah, you can come get me now  
thank you, by the way  
it's just a pain to type out, so I'm waiting  
I promise my life doesn't seem to be in danger

**Me** : "doesn't seem"

**Clarke** : death haunts us every day, Bellamy

**Me** : thanks for that   
see you in twenty minutes

It actually ends up being a little longer, but not by that much. It's summer, so he doesn't have work, and he can basically just pull on his shoes and jump into the car. He'd like to speed the whole way to her, but there's a ton of traffic, and it's not like reckless driving is going to help the situation. If he crashes before he gets to Clarke, he's never going to know what's going on. And she's not going to have anyone to get her.

She's sitting on the usual bench outside the hospital when he drives up, looking tired and smaller than usual, at least to his eye. Of course, it could just be the paranoia talking. He will admit to being more than a little paranoid about the whole thing.

But she smiles a the sight of him and slides into shotgun, and on closer inspection she looks basically fine. She's doing her residency; she's always tired. That's nothing new.

"What the fuck," he says, anyway.

She rubs her face and settles back into the seat, closing her eyes. "I'm really sorry. I know that text must have scared the shit out of you."

"You can help by telling me what happened now."

"I woke up with some breathing issues last night," she says. "I did a lot of research, I went and saw my PCP, I don't think it's anything life-threatening. But until I can go to a sleep clinic, I'm not going to be sure. So the doctor told me I should try to find someone to, you know. Monitor me. Just for tonight."

He glances at her. "Breathing issues? Breathing issues like how?"

"Like I couldn't. It didn't last that long, but--" Her cool facade falters. "It was pretty scary. Even if it's not dangerous, I don't really want to be alone, and you're on vacation, so--"

"So I can just stay up all night watching you sleep?"

"You don't have to stay up. You can just, uh--" The pause is long enough that it actually starts to feel awkward. "I won't feel bad if I wake you up, because you don't have work in the morning."

"How are you going to wake me up if I'm not watching you?" he asks.

"It's a big bed," she says, her tone aggressively casual. "You can have half of it. I was kind of gasping for air before so if it happens again, you'll probably hear, so--"

"Jesus. Yeah, of course I'll come over. That must have been terrifying."

"It's not my favorite way to wake up. But I'm not having other symptoms and it doesn't seem, like--it might some kind of sleep apnea, it might be something else, but I don't think it's anything to really worry about. Just--"

"Scary."

"Pretty much."

He comes to a stop at a red light and lets himself reach over to squeeze her hand. Sleeping in her bed sounds like kind of a terrible idea, from a self-preservation perspective, but he's not going to let her sleep _alone_ , not when she's scared. And he doesn't want to tag anyone else in. Even leaving aside how worried he is, he has trouble even thinking about giving up on a chance to spend the night with Clarke. 

He might be pathetic.

"Any idea when you can get in a sleep clinic? How does that work? Did the doctor have any suggestions?"

"A couple." She flashes him a smile. "I've got some pills and stuff to try, so--yeah. The sleep clinic's probably not going to be for another week."

"A _week_?" he asks. "Fuck, that's so long."

"It might not even happen again. It could just be acid reflux."

"Acid reflux," he repeats, dubious.

"Which one of us is the doctor again? I promise that's really something it could be. If I thought I needed to be more scared, I'd tell you. I just don't want to be alone."

"Okay. Just--whatever I can do."

"You picked me up, you're coming to dinner with me, and you're going to sleep over to make me feel better. You're already doing plenty." He can hear all the warmth in her voice when she says, "Why do you think I asked you?"

"To give me a fucking heart attack," he grumbles, and that makes her laugh.

"No, that was just a fringe benefit."

*

They grab dinner near his apartment so that once they're done, he can go and grab his pajamas and toothbrush. Clarke mournfully admits that the doctor told her to maybe watch her drinking until they've figured out what's happening. Which means that she only has one beer, because that barely counts, and Bellamy has to smile.

It's not as if it's weird for him to be hanging out at Clarke's. He hangs out at Clarke's all the time. He even crashes here sometimes, so, yeah. It shouldn't be weird at all.

Except that he's going to be sleeping _in her bed_. With her. He's never crashed in her bed before. He just sleeps on the futon. Most of the time he doesn't even bother turning it into a bed. It's really just a practicality thing.

It starts out totally normal: they watch Netflix while Clarke finalizes some notes, and he tries very hard to not think about what's coming next. Because this is just a practicality thing too. It's a _health_ thing. He's the asshole for thinking about it in anything like romantic terms. Clarke is scared and doesn't need him being awkward about sleeping with her.

That's what really snaps him into focus. He's here for a reason, and it's an important one. He can get the fuck over himself.

So he brushes his teeth and washes his face and heads into Clarke's room in his pajama pants and a t-shirt, way more than he usually wears to bed. Clarke is looking down at herself in consternation, and he raises his eyebrows at her.

"Do you mind if I just wear a t-shirt?" she asks, looking embarrassed. "I have a lot of trouble sleeping in pants."

"I'm definitely going to be scandalized by your legs." She still looks anxious, so he starts tugging off his own shirt, to reassure her it's not weird. "Boxers okay for me? I don't care either way."

"Yeah, boxers are fine," she says, and steps out of her bottoms. He's obviously not scandalized, but he does have to remind himself to keep his eyes up. He likes legs. He especially likes _her_ legs. And her everything else.

Getting the rest of his own clothes off is something of a distraction, but not really a helpful one, because after that's done he's just standing by Clarke's bed and trying to figure out how to interact with it.

She's the one to break the silence. "Which side?"

"Don't care. Do you usually sleep on one?"

"The one closest to the bedside table," she says, with a kind of fondly _duh_ tone.

"Cool, I'll take the other one."

It's close enough to the wall that he has to climb across the bed to get in, so he goes first. He's been on Clarke's bed before, has even napped here a couple times, but it's still not really familiar. The only part he really feels like he knows is the scent, like her shampoo and laundry detergent, and that does help.

Clarke climbs in next to him. "Do you still need the light, or--"

"I'm good."

They lie in silence on their backs, and Bellamy doesn't think he's the only one staring at the ceiling and feeling awkward. But it's a nice kind of awkward. He wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

"Do you want me to try to stay up? See if I notice anything?" he finally asks.

"It was like two am the last time," she says. "I think you'll notice if anything goes really wrong. Just go to bed." Under the covers, she finds his hand and squeezes. "Thank you."

"No problem. Goodnight, Clarke."

"Goodnight."

It would probably be easier for him to turn his brain off and go to sleep if she let go of his hand, but she _doesn't_. 

So it takes him a while to drift off. But he doesn't mind even a little.

*

He jerks awake a few hours later in a state of complete disorientation, not sure where he is or why he's awake until he hears Clarke gasping next to him. There's nothing he can _do_ , exactly, but he jolts up on instinct, puts his hand on her back to rub soothing circles. He can't tell if it helps, but if it goes on much longer he can try something else. CPR or the Heimlich or--a third option he'll think of.

But Clarke's breath returns with a fit of coughing, and relief washes over him like a bucket of cold water.

She finds a glass on her nightstand and drains it, and he takes it without comment and goes to the kitchen to refill it for her. She's still sitting up when he gets back, looking at her phone, and he sits down right next to her, pressed up against her side, for maximum comfort.

"That was fucking terrifying," he says, and she lets out a shaky laugh, takes the water when he nudges it into her hand.

"I just wanted a witness. So everyone would know I'm not overreacting."

"Seriously," he says, wrapping his arm around her. She's shaking a little, and he can't blame her. It didn't even happen to him, and it was scary enough. "What can I do? Do you need more water? Want me to take you to the ER?"

"No, it's fine." She takes another sip of the water, leaning in close. "It's just nice to have someone around."

"Are you sure you can't get the sleep study sooner?"

"I've got some stuff I can try until then. I'll get some antacids tomorrow."

"Clarke."

"I know. Trust me, I'm taking this seriously. But the sleep clinic is only once a week, so--"

"Okay." He squeezes her again. It feels like an excessive amount of touching, but she doesn't seem to mind. "Do you want to watch TV or something? Read? Until you're ready to go back to bed?"

"No, it's fine. I'm good now. But--" In the dark, he can see her catch her lip in her teeth, biting back on the words.

"What?"

"Don't let go?" she says, voice small.

He tugs her back into bed with him, keeping her pressed against his chest as they settle in. It doesn't take much to get comfortable; Clarke snuggles in against him instantly, tangling their legs together, curling her hand over his heart, and he rests his cheek on her hair, holding her tight.

"Good?" he asks.

"Yeah." She shifts closer, somehow, impossibly. It feels like every inch of her is pressed against him at this point. "Thanks again."

"No problem. Go to sleep."

*

The next time he wakes up, it's actually morning, albeit way too early. Clarke is still tangled up in his arms, and her alarm is blaring on her nightstand. 

In Bellamy's opinion, you shouldn't have to go to work the day after you wake up in the middle of the night with breathing issues, but Clarke doesn't seem to feel the same way. And she is the medical professional here, so--she's probably right. Besides, she gets her primary care at the hospital, so if she's going to consult a doctor, she needs to go in anyway.

She makes an annoyed noise, briefly presses in closer to him, apparently neither surprised nor offended by his morning wood, and then rolls off to grab her phone and turn it off.

"You feeling okay?" he asks.

She flashes him a grin. "Your voice is _so deep_ when you wake up."

"Shut up." He struggles to a sitting position. "You know you can skip work if you need to."

"I know. But I don't." She stands and stretches, t-shirt riding up high enough that he can see her underwear a little. Now that it's morning and the world isn't quite so scary, he's able to appreciate all the things he couldn't last night: the bittersweet feeling of Clarke in his arms, the way she felt and smelled, all these things he wants and is only getting because Clarke's having a medical issue. Which makes him feel like a total bastard, but he can't actually turn it off.

"Okay," he tells her. "You sure?"

"Which one of us is a doctor?"

"I hear doctors are notoriously shitty patients."

"Eric was going to give me a prescription if I had another episode, so I want to go in to get that anyway," she says. But she follows it up with a warm smile. "I promise I'm okay. And if I'm not, I want to be at a hospital."

"I guess that's true."

She hesitates, like she wants to say more, but finally just shakes her head. "I need to get ready. But you should go back to sleep. You can hang out for as long as you want. Eat whatever food you can find."

"Will do. Keep me posted on what Dr. Jackson tells you."

"Will do. Thanks again, for staying with me."

"Any time," he says, with a smile. "Have a good day at work."

He drifts in and out of sleep as he listens to the sounds of Clarke getting ready, the shower turning on and off, the fridge opening and closing, her movements as she finds clothes and gets dressed.

He makes sure his eyes are very, very closed for that part.

Once she's gone, though, he has trouble convincing himself to go back to sleep. He's tired, but not _that_ tired, and being in Clarke's bed is a lot less appealing when he's alone. So he drags himself up, gets some of the coffee Clarke left for him, lets her cat headbutt him while he checks his email. He has absolutely no plans for the day, which is the mixed blessing of summer vacation. It's nice to have some time off to relax, but he doesn't really tend to do very well with free time. 

And, honestly, it's hard to imagine just _going home_ right now. Clarke might be fine and have a plan, but--he worries about people. It's what he does. And aside from Octavia, there's no one he worries about more than he worries about Clarke.

"So, I'm not going anywhere, huh?" he asks the cat.

She butts her face against his chin, purring up a storm, and he smiles.

"Yeah. Guess not."

*

It's not entirely accurate, of course. He has a spare key to her place, which means he can leave and come back without issue, so he goes to his place and grabs his laptop and his Switch so he can spend the rest of the day on Clarke's couch playing _Breath of the Wild_ , instead of doing it at home. 

He also grabs a change of clothes, his razor, and a few more basic necessities. It's not like he _has_ to stay another night. But if she'll let him, he's absolutely going to. He knows he was helping; he wants to keep on helping.

When he tries to have lunch, he finds Clarke has no food, which he really should have seen coming. Clarke never cooks and every time he comes over, he ends up giving her a lecture about how expensive takeout is. He goes to the grocery store and gets her some supplies, cleans up the kitchen and bathroom while he's at it, and, when he's finally satisfied that he's been a sufficiently real person, settles back in with his video games.

That's how Clarke finds him when she gets back, and she smiles and flops down next to him on the couch.

"Did you move at all?"

"I got out of bed," he shoots back. "How are you feeling?"

"Normal. Got some actual prescriptions, and set up for the sleep clinic this weekend. We're basically just throwing stuff at the problem to see if it sticks, but at least we have stuff to throw."

"Wow, I feel so much better."

"It is all about your needs," she teases.

"Isn't everything?" He swallows, doesn't look at her. "I'm staying again, unless you kick me out."

"I'm not going to kick you out." She tucks herself into his side, snuggling up so she can see his Switch. It's not completely unheard of, for the two of them to sit this close, but she's being surprisingly brazen about it, and he can't help a swoop of excitement. "I want you to stay," she adds, which just makes it better. "But I felt bad asking."

"I'll stay as long as you need," he promises, and means it.

*

The first night he ends up sleeping at home is when she goes in for the sleep study, and it feels like that should probably be the end, by all rights. She hasn't had an incident since the first night, so as far as he can tell there's no actual _need_ for him at this point. It's not like it couldn't happen again, but it certainly doesn't seem to be an every night kind of thing, which means that unless he's planning to stay every night for the rest of his life, it's unclear what he's doing.

And, obviously, he would love to stay every night for the rest of his life, but that's kind of a different conversation. He should definitely figure out how to have it sometime soon, but, well. He hasn't yet, and this probably isn't the time.

But he doesn't want to just _stop_ either.

The sleep clinic runs from Friday night to Saturday morning, and the bus Clarke takes to the hospital runs on reduced hours on Saturday, so he agreed to come pick her up so she wouldn't have to wait around for it. She apologized for making him come, of course, but he wants to hear her updates as soon as humanly possible.

Besides, if they're already together, it's a lot more likely that she won't make him leave tonight.

He gets there a little early, does a few circles around the hospital before Clarke makes it out to him. She looks tired, but content, and gives him a huge grin when she gets in.

"Have I told you lately you're the best?"

"You have, yeah. This whole medical issue is really increasing your appreciation levels. I assume it's a near-death experience thing."

"I'm not near death. But you are being really great about this."

"I'm even going to make you dinner."

"Yeah?"

"You still have all those groceries I got you. If I don't use them, they're just going to go bad. I know you won't."

"It's almost like there's a reason I don't buy food I can't cook."

"You could cook it. You choose not to. I could teach you."

"Or you could just keep doing it for me."

It makes his breath catch. "Or that, yeah," he agrees. "As long as you do the dishes." He clears his throat, awkward. "So, what did the doctor say? How's your sleep?"

"I won't get the results for a couple weeks."

"A couple _weeks_?"

"It's not even happening any more."

"That doesn't mean it won't!"

"I told them my symptoms and they don't think it's life-threatening either. Scary and shitty, but probably not even sleep apnea."

"You know that _they don't think_ is really not comforting, right?"

"Doctors don't like to tell you they're sure about things until they're sure. I'm not worried."

Part of him wants to ask about their future sleeping arrangements right then, but he's driving, and to his surprise, he wants to be able to see her for this conversation. So he settles on, "As long as you're not worried," and turns his attention to getting them home.

*

Clarke's the one to finally say, "It's getting late."

They hung out all day and had dinner and watched Netflix, and now it's almost eleven. Bellamy's got the cat in his lap, purring up a storm, and Clarke's feet are on his ankles on the coffee table.

It's exactly where he wants to be.

"I brought a change of clothes," he offers. "If you, uh--in case you want me to stay."

"I think we're probably out of the danger zone."

It's the answer he expected, but his stomach still plummets. "Probably," he agrees.

Clarke gives him a teasing smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I know you're worried, but I'm not actually expecting you to hang out waiting for me to die in my sleep for the rest of my life."

"I could, though," he says, and he feels her stiffen next to him. So he's being clear enough. "That's an option."

"An option."

"You have to know I wouldn't--" He shakes his head, helpless. "If it was anyone else, I'd already be sleeping at home. But you--"

"If you're going to sleep over for the rest of my life, you need to be doing a lot more than just making sure I'm not dead," she says, in a rush, and Bellamy stares at her. Her mouth twitches a little. "If it was anyone else, I wouldn't have asked in the first place."

He lets out a short, sharp laugh, somehow _surprised_ , even though he'd been hoping. Even though he felt like the odds were pretty good.

He cups her cheek, and she grins, and she's still grinning when he finally kisses her, warm and deep and just as good as he hoped it would be. Clarke presses closer, trying to slide into his lap, at which point the cat finally notices what's happening and jumps off him with a yowl of protest that gets them both laughing, giddy with it.

"You know," says Clarke, once she recovers. "We could be doing this in my bed."

"We could." 

She stands and offers her hand; he lets her pull him up and kisses her as soon as they're both vertical. At some point, he's sure it will stop being exciting, the way she melts under him, the way she responds instantly, but he hopes the novelty will stick around for a while. It's _awesome_.

"I like your bed," he murmurs, nuzzling her jaw, and she laughs.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

*

The next time they wake up in the middle of the night, it's his fault. They've been officially dating for almost three months, and while he doesn't spend _every_ night with her, it's pretty close. And every night he doesn't, he feels a little incomplete. He sleeps, sleeps pretty well even, but--he hates it, all the same.

Clarke's got an official diagnosis that Bellamy can't pronounce, but the antacids she's on seem to have fixed it, and he hasn't had to witness her failing to breathe again since the first time, which he appreciates.

He also doesn't wake up feeling like he's choking on nothing, which is pretty great. Instead, he shocks himself out of a nightmare, some strange surreal world where he and Clarke are fighting for their lives, where he thinks she's dying, and he pulls out just before whatever was going to kill her does it. He sits up, disoriented and breathing hard, and dislodges Clarke before he realizes he's doing it.

She stirs and blinks. "Hey, you okay?"

He shakes his head, trying to cast out the strange, unreal panic, and then settles back. Clarke curls around him at once, pressing her lips to his jaw, and he exhales, closing his eyes again. "Just a bad dream."

"Want to talk about it?"

"The world was ending, you were dying. Nothing special."

She laughs. "Yeah, that happens all the time."

"I have some weird dreams." He kisses her hair. "I'm glad you're here, though. Would have sucked to not see you after that."

"I like waking up with you too," she says, absent, already half asleep again, and he smiles.

"Yeah," he agrees. "That's exactly what I like."


End file.
